This is your Revolution





In your face, in the street,

through the people that you meet,

in the papers, on the walls,

in the smell of the halls,

in the face of the bill as they slink by,

in all of the bullshit the politicians cry,

in your mobile, on your laptop,

in the breeze coming through your soft-top,

Your Revolution is coming.


On the street getting a kicking,

people scoffing finger-lickin’ chicken,

on the booze for ‘In-guh-lund’,

flag-waving for this pleasant land,

in the words of the brain-dead, not thinking,

nothing left of nature’s carcass to start reeking,

This is Your Revolution coming.


In mohair and mohawks,

with crop-tops and flip tops,

high heels and flash wheels,

glasses and sunglasses,

things bought with no thought,

at the truths you’re not receiving,

amidst all your problems conceiving,

hoping someone has the answer,

while you fill with cancer,

This is Your Revolution.


Cheap thrills and no will,

brochures and magazines,

shop floors and mezzanines,

striding out and looking tall,

excess credit and all that bull,

living today,

no more for you son,

This is Your Revolution.